


Comfortably Numb

by orphan_account



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Past Relationship(s), Please Don't Kill Me, Suicide, This Is Sad, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26822371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 'Think of me every now and then, my old friend'Paul wasn't really expecting it.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney (past), Linda McCartney/Paul McCartney
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Comfortably Numb

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back with yet another sad fic. Hope you like this, leave a kudo and a comment with your opinion on this lil piece of fic I wrote   
> (I might write some more fluffy thing for Johnny's birthday. If not, this is lmao)

Paul had been having a strange feeling in his gut all day.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly what was upsetting him, but something actually was bothering him.

He had been feeling shaky and uneasy, it reminded him of the feelings he had just before going on stage those first times as the Beatles.

The Beatles. Oh, how many memories.

All the time he had spent making music, enjoying his life, with his best friends.

With George, with Ringo and with John. 

Oh Johnny.

He was so happy to have mended a bit their relationship.

Suddenly, he felt a shiver going through his body at the thought of John.

His beautiful boy, with that sweet, vulnerable soul behind the tough, cynical man.

His fingers itched to grab the phone and call him, but something unexplainable was keeping him from reaching the phone.

Suddenly, he felt like he might have bursted into tears right at the moment.

He kept on feeling that feeling of discomfort all day long.

He had started feeling sick, especially around lunchtime.

He felt like a vice was grasping at his stomach, knotting it uncomfortably.

Both him and Linda had started worrying that the man had gotten sick, so the woman had sent him off to their bedroom with the order of staying on strict bed rest.

Paul had complied and went without fighting, he was feeling too tired and upset to put up any sort of fight.

His exhausted mind drifted off to a deep, restless slumber.

That afternoon, he dreamt of teddy boys, of kisses under the Parisian moon and inexperienced making love, of kisses and whispered I love yous.

Silent tears were tracing his cheeks, but a smile had found its way on his face.

It was only later that day, that Paul woke up.

He was feeling more exhausted than before going to bed, and the anxious feeling hadn't washed away.

Tired of being forced in bed, Paul decided to wander off downstairs.

He felt like a thief, sneaking around his own house to avoid his wife from seeing him out of bed.

Or better, he mused, he felt like when he was a teen and was sneaking out his da's house from the window, to join John one place or another in the middle of the night.

Again, at the thought of John's name, something in him shifted.

It wasn't the pleasant, warm shift though, the one that was making butterflies appearing in his gut and making him smile like an idiot.

No, it was like a cold, unsettling feeling rooting itself deep inside him.

Though he was walking to the kitchen to get something to eat -and maybe, why not, a glass of fine wine he'd been keeping there in the Scotland farm, he stopped by the small table in the living room, just under the phone.

He walked to the phone, ready to call John, when his eyes fell onto something sitting on the table, on top of messy papers and reminders.

It was a vhs, on it, scrambled in a messy handwriting, it was written 'For Paul'.

Paul knew that handwriting like it was his own.

Flashbacks of seeing it on music papers along with his flashed before his eyes and suddenly a smile pulled his lips into a grin.

John had sent him a vhs.

Paul ran to the main living room, almost bouncing on his feet as he pushed the tape into the video recorder and pushed play, quickly sitting down onto the sofa.

But his grin quickly died as soon as he saw the screen.

John was sitting right in front of the camera, looking disheveled.

His long hair looked ruffled and dirty, his eyes wide, but almost see-through, like John was watching the camera without really seeing it.

He was silent, the only sound in the tape was a constant dripping, almost like John had left a tap open.

But then, something caught the dark haired man.

Blood, thick and red was traveling down the other's arms.

Paul couldn't look away from the droplets of blood, so transfixed he almost missed John starting talking.

A sentence that made Paul's blood grow cold into his veins.

'Think of me every now and then, my old friend'

And then, just before his eyes, John had his throat slitted with a sharp knife, the blade mockingly glistening in the dim light.

When Linda returned home from the fields, Paul was still kneeling on the floor, shattered glass table at his feet. 

Tears were streaming down his face and he looked like a deer caught in headlights.

The television was giving nothing but statics.

And Paul was muttering something in a broken tone.

'Think of me every now and then, my old friend'


End file.
